The Desert Sheikh's Defiant Queen. Jane Porter

there. They ushered her into the beautiful marble-and-glass executive terminal. The very rich and famous used the private terminal, and various sheikhs and businessmen mingled in groups, even as private jets carrying celebrities landed one after the other.

      It was a busy terminal, and Jesslyn stood aside just people watching, fascinated by the parade of wealth, glamour and beauty. She was still taking it all in when the exterior doors opened again and another group entered, this group predominantly male with one tall, robed man commanding the most attention.

      The atmosphere in the terminal almost instantly changed, charged with a tangible energy, an electric awareness. Heads through the terminal turned, and even Jesslyn felt the frisson of excitement.

      Sharif.

      She pursed her lips, checking her smile. Wouldn’t you know that Sharif could bring a bustling terminal like the Dubai Executive Airport to a standstill.

      Even before he was King Fehr he commanded attention. Ever since she’d known him he’d managed to combine physical beauty with easy grace, an innate elegance and a brilliant mind.

      She’d loved his mind, and she wasn’t going to think about his body—that had already kept her awake far too late last night.

      Now she watched as he walked swiftly through the airport, shaking hands with several people he knew along the way. He was beautiful—ridiculous, movie star beautiful—with his thick onyx hair and incredible bone structure, and again whispers of conversation reached her, murmurs about news and weddings, and Jesslyn listened to the bits of gossip swirling through the terminal.

      Was Sharif really thinking about getting married again? Was he close to taking a new bride? Had that decision already been made? And is that why he wanted her to work with his children this summer? To manage any problems the children might have before their problems became public?

      Puzzled, she watched him reach the exit on the far side of the terminal. He hadn’t once looked at her or for her, and she felt strangely numb, like a piece of office furniture.

      But then he turned at the glass door, pushed up his sunglasses and looked straight at her with his startling eyes and that half smile of his that made her suck in air, dazzled despite herself.

      So he’d known all along she was there, had been aware of her as he made his way through the terminal. Her heart did a painful little jump, an embarrassing little jump.

      His eyes crinkled further, his mouth quirking higher, and he gestured to her, two fingers bending, calling her. Come.

      Come.

      If only he’d done that when she’d broken up with him. If only he’d called her, come after her, asked for her to return.

      Sharif’s men walked her to him now, and together she and Sharif stepped onto the tarmac, the June sun blisteringly hot despite it still being early in the morning.

      “How are you?” he asked, as they climbed the stairs to the jet.

      “Good,” she answered, ducking her head as she entered the sleek jet. “How are you?”

      He gave her a quick look, catching her tone. “Sounds like a loaded question.”

      She shrugged as they stepped into the jet. “People are talking about you.”

      “They always talk about me,” he answered flatly, walking her to a chair in a cluster of four seats, two on each side of an aisle. Behind the seating area was a paneled wall with a handsome paneled door. “Which reminds me, I’ve a few calls to make. I’ll be back out when we’re airborne.”

      “Of course.”

      With a nod in her direction he disappeared through the paneled door. Jesslyn couldn’t see what lay behind the door other than a room with pale plush carpet, the corner of a buttery leather couch or chair and lots of open space.

      As the door closed, the flight attendant appeared at Jesslyn’s side, checking to see if she needed anything. And then the door to the jet closed and within minutes they were taxiing down the long runway and lifting off.

      Once at cruising altitude, the flight attendant returned, offering Jesslyn a choice of refreshments. “Tea, please,” she answered, as Sharif reappeared, taking a seat opposite hers.

      “Coffee, Your Highness?” the flight attendant asked.

      “Yes, thank you,” he said before looking at Jesslyn. “So what did you hear? What are the gossips saying about me today?”

      She listened to the flight attendant’s footsteps recede and looked at Sharif, really looked at him, seeing the fine lines fan from his eyes and the deeper grooves shaping his mouth. He looked pensive, even tired. Silently she debated whether she should even repeat the talk, if it was worth mentioning, but she’d heard the same talk twice now and it was better to know something like this than just wonder. “I heard you’re to be married again.”

      His eyebrows lifted but he said nothing.

      She watched his face. “Is it true?”

      He hesitated a long moment. “There would be advantages to remarrying,” he said at last. “And there are those who feel it would be advantageous for me to marry their daughter, but is there a bride? A wedding date?” He shrugged. “No. Nothing is set.”

      “But you will eventually marry?”

      “I’m young. I’m a widower. It makes sense.”

      “It’s just business, then.”

      He made a low, rough sound. “What would you prefer me to say? That I’ve met the most wonderful woman and I can’t wait to marry my one true love?” He made the rough sound again. “I don’t have time for love. I’m too busy running my country.”

      “How long have you been king now?”

      Sharif frowned, trying to remember. “Five years? Six? Hard to recall. It’s been long enough that it’s starting to blur together.”

      “Your father had a heart attack.”

      “Died in his sleep.”

      “I remember reading it was a shock to the family. No one had expected it.”

      “That’s what the media reported but it wasn’t true. Father had problems several years before that, but his personal physician thought things were better. Mother hoped things were better. But I sensed that Father wasn’t the same, but then, he hadn’t been, not since my sisters’ death.”

      Since the fourth form Jesslyn had loved his sisters, fraternal twins who had been completely different in every way and yet were still best friends, and over the years they’d become her best friends, too. Whatever Jamila and Aman did, wherever they went, Jesslyn could be found there, too.

      After graduating from university Jamila and Aman had insisted Jesslyn come to live with them in London at the home of Sharif’s aunt in Mayfair. Together they had dived into work, building their careers during the day and enjoying each other’s company in the evenings. To celebrate finishing their first year as career girls, they planned a summer holiday in Greece.

      They were on their last night on Crete when their car was broadsided by a drunk driver. Jamila died instantly, Aman was rushed to the emergency room, and Jesslyn, who’d been on the opposite side of the car, was hospitalized with injuries that hadn’t appeared life threatening.

      The hospital in Athens had been a nightmare. Jesslyn was desperate to see Aman but no one would let her into the intensive care ward since Jesslyn wasn’t family.

      Jesslyn remembered standing in her gown, leaning on her walker, sobbing for someone to let her in. She knew Jamila was gone. She was desperate to see Aman. It was then Sharif appeared and, learning what the commotion was about, he opened the door to Aman’s room himself, firmly telling the hospital staff that Jesslyn was family, too.

      That was how they met. In the hospital, the day before Aman died.